


Interrupted - five almost kisses

by NeonPistachio



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 5+1 Things, Allergies, First Kiss, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 04:49:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14947887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeonPistachio/pseuds/NeonPistachio
Summary: Five times Greg and Mycroft almost kiss, and the time they finally manage to.Set post series 4 but mainly ignores the events of it.





	Interrupted - five almost kisses

**Author's Note:**

> I know only as much as google can provide about medicine and London geography. Unbeta'd and contains more food that I initially expected it to.

One 

They’ve been dancing around this for months. Meetings at Greg’s office and brief words at crime scenes while Sherlock and John dance around corpses and each other have morphed into coffee to discuss things at their leisure, have moved on to take out and not talking about Sherlock or work. 

At first Greg didn’t want to read too much into it. Then he didn’t want to move too fast. He was married for twelve years and has only been divorced for one. He’s had a couple of dates here and there but none with a man since before he met his ex-wife. 

Mycroft similarly has been hesitant. His job doesn’t leave much time for a social life and as a result he hasn’t had many relationships over the years, and never with someone so closely associated with his brother. But with Sherlock cohabiting happily with John and Rosie and moving into a more than platonic relationship to boot, Mycroft can afford to divert some of his attention towards his own personal life without it crippling Sherlock emotionally if two of his support network spend time focused on each other rather than him.

So they’ve been half dating for a while. They’ve not said it aloud but the tension between them is becoming tangible. Anticipation is building with fleeting touches, fingers brushing as they sit together, looks that linger and admire.

They’re sitting on the sofa in Mycroft’s office eating Chinese from a restaurant that Mycroft swears makes the most authentic food outside China. It’s been a long day involving Sherlock being petulant and no John there to provide a buffer. He’d cursed New Scotland Yard as being populated with idiots, made one of the newer PC’s hide in the supply cupboard to get away from his deductions and when Mycroft had arrived to speak to Greg Sherlock spent ten minutes needling him about everything from his weight to his aftershave. In the end Greg bribed him to go away with four cold cases and then he and Mycroft left for an early dinner in Mycroft’s office. 

They’re discussing a book that Mycroft lent Greg and how it compares to the film, arguing in a friendly way between mouthfuls. Mycroft makes an acid remark that Greg responds to with a strong rejoinder and rolled eyes. When he looks back at Mycroft their eyes catch and hold. Greg, who was still speaking and waving his fork around to emphasis his point lets his words trail off as the look in Mycroft’s eyes grown intent. The moment draws out, both of them silently aware of the other and the way their legs are pressed together. Mycroft’s chopstick begin to stray towards his immaculate trouser leg. Caught in the pull of desire between them Greg leans towards Mycroft as Mycroft leans towards him. Eyes drifting closed, their lips are inches apart when - 

‘I’M SEXY AND I KNOW IT, I’M SEXY AND I KNOW IT, YEAH -’

The tinny blare of music is shockingly loud in the quiet room causing them both to jump and breaking the moment. Mycroft grabs blindly for his phone which seems to be the source of the noise and manages to hit a button to silence it again. 

Mycroft glares at the mobile. How dare anyone interrupt them? And how in the hell had Sherlock, because it could only be him, unlocked his phone to change the ringtone? But thoughts of retribution are driven from his mind when he sees the number the call came from. This is not someone he can afford to ignore at this moment in time. 

He turns to Greg, who’s watching him with the face of a man who knows all too well the demands career can place on private life. ‘I’m deeply sorry, Gregory, but I'm afraid I must take this call.’  
Greg nods. ‘Yeah, alright Mycroft, I should head back to work anyway. I’ll see you later this week, OK?’

Mycroft’s lips form a small moue. ‘I fear that, should this go the way I expect I may be out of the country for a short while. I shall call when I get back if that is acceptable?’

Greg shrugs in reply. ‘Suppose it’ll have to do. Text me when you can, yeah? Let me know how you’re getting on.’ The disappointment on his face is almost entirely hidden but a small hint manages to break through. Mycroft feels a pang of sympathy and similar disappointment.

‘I shall text you when I can. I’m sorry but I must take this call. I will see you when I return.’ He walks Greg to the door and opens it for him, motioning to Anthea outside to call for the car to return Greg to his office. Greg makes to leave, turning back at the last moment. ‘Stay safe, OK, Mycroft? Or we’ll be having words.’ He grins and leaves before Mycroft can say anything in reply. 

Two 

They’re in Greg’s office at New Scotland Yard this time. Mycroft returned the day before and they made plans to meet for lunch at a nearby cafe, plans which had changed to sandwiches at the Yard as Greg waited for word of a suspect being surveilled. 

They’ve caught up on Sherlock and John’s antics, discussed Greg’s current case, avoided talking about Mycroft’s last trip - ‘How was it?’ ‘Hot. Wet. Infuriating.’ ‘Bugger.’ - and are sitting eating in companionable silence. Mycroft is making pleased faces at his sandwich. Greg introduced him to the Armenian deli near Scotland Yard several weeks ago and it’s been Mycroft’s first choice for lunch ever since. 

Looking up suddenly Mycroft catches Greg’s smug expression and makes a face at him causing Greg to nearly snort his coffee. Getting to know Mycroft has been an adventure full of little moments when the man behind the facade peeks though. It’s endearing and thrilling to be one of the few people Mycroft lets his guard down around. As Mycroft looks faintly appalled at his lack of decorum Greg is hit by the overwhelming urge to kiss him. Mycroft must read the sudden intent on his face because he lowers his sandwich and sits up straighter. Greg raises an eyebrow questioningly and Mycroft nods in reply and moves towards him a little. Greg feels almost self-conscious as he raises his hand to cup Mycroft’s jaw and draw him forward, leaning as well to bring them closer together. It seems like he’s in a dream as he begins to close the last few inches between them. Closer and closer, almost there - 

The door bursts open and they jump apart as Donovan rushes in. ‘Sir, we’ve got her, she’s outside the flats and – Oh, sorry Mr. Holmes, I didn’t know you were here.’ She breaks off, looking between them knowingly. In the intervening seconds Mycroft has returned his attention to his sandwich and Greg has jumped up, reaching for his jacket. 

‘Right, sorry Mycroft, I’ve got to go, I’ll see you later, yeah?’ He doesn’t wait for a reply as he races out the door, Donovan on his heels. She flashes him a look of regret for interrupting and Greg pulls a face back, warning her not to say anything. ‘OK, who’s got eyes on her now?’

Three

Mycroft asks him to dinner and sends a car for him at the office. It drops him off at the Diogenes Club where the steward escorts him to a private dining room. When he enters, Mycroft is standing by the window with a glass of wine in his hand. He greets Greg with a smile and gestures to another glass on the small dining table, already poured. 

‘Gregory, I remembered how much you enjoyed this vintage last time and I took the liberty of having the menu arranged to complement it. The steward should be serving soon, come and take a seat.’

Greg moves to the table and picks up his glass, taking a sip. It’s a wine he remembers liking before though he can’t for the life of him remember the name. ‘That is good.’ He smiles at Mycroft. ‘So what are we eating?’ 

The meal Mycroft describes sounds wonderful, mostly things Greg has tried before but with a few new dishes thrown in. They chat about their respective days whilst waiting for the food to arrive, pausing when the steward arrives to lay it out. The meal is tapas like with lots of small dishes of food, almost too much to eat even with two of them. 

The combination of good wine, excellent food and enjoyable company relaxes Greg. Mycroft can be very witty when he feels comfortable and the atmosphere between them is warm and friendly, edging towards flirtatious. 

Mycroft helps himself to one of the dishes and makes an ecstatic face when the flavour hits his tongue. ‘Gregory, you must try this, it’s fantastic.’ He picks some up on his fork and holds it out. Feeling a little self-conscious but too caught up in the moment to protest Greg leans forward to receive it. Mycroft’s gaze turns hot as he places the food in Greg’s mouth. Greg makes a strangled sound as the taste registers and Mycroft lets out a heavy breath in response. Neither draws back. The air between them grows thicker and Greg can almost feel what’s going to happen next. The moment lengthens and Greg can feel himself growing breathless with anticipation. His throat feels tight as Mycroft moves closer, and he gives a small cough. Then another. Anticipation turns to alarm as he realises it’s not his imagination, he really is breathless. Mycroft registers the fear on his face and pulls back. ‘Gregory? What’s wrong?’

‘Lemon!’ Greg manages to gasp. He can feel his airways closing and in a horrified second realises he left his EpiPen in his coat pocket at the reception desk. The Diogenes is usually flawless in avoiding his citrus allergy. Mycroft takes his exclamation in in a second. 

‘Where is your EpiPen? Is it on you?’ Greg shakes his head. ‘In your coat?’ Greg nods fervently, attempting to draw in any small amount of air he can as his heartbeat begins to speed up. Mycroft races across the room to the door and shouts into the corridor for Greg’s coat. If he wasn’t busy going into anaphylactic shock Greg would be amused by the fact that Mycroft Holmes is shouting in the halls of the Diogenes.  
Seconds later Mycroft is back at his side, rubbing his back in a helpless way. Greg almost wants to roll his eyes but he can see dots starting to float around the edges of his vision and his panic increases. Where is his EpiPen? 

Thankfully the steward rushes in then with his jacket which Mycroft grabs and begins to rummage through madly. He pulls out the EpiPen and uncaps it, stabbing it into Greg’s thigh and holding it there. Almost immediately Greg can feel his airway open and he manages to draw in the first few desperately needed breaths. Mycroft has his mobile out in his other hand and is barking orders into it, calling for an ambulance. As Greg feels his heartbeat begin to slow Mycroft releases the injector and places it on the table, bringing his hand to rest on Greg’s shoulder as he continues to talk into his phone.

‘I am incredibly sorry.’ Mycroft says later, after the paramedics have taken them both to the hospital and Greg has been checked out and given a bed and an oxygen mask. ‘I instructed the chef that there should be no citrus in our meal but there must have been some contamination somewhere along the line.’ The banked wrath in his eyes promises heads will roll. Greg makes a move to take off the oxygen mask to speak but Mycroft stills his hand. ‘Do not argue with me over this, Gregory. If you had not had your EpiPen with you it could have been disastrous. This mistake will not happen again.’ His voice is coldly certain.

Greg reaches for his phone on the table beside the bed. 

_It was a mistake. Don’t go having anyone deported._

Mycroft looks at the message that appears on his phone screen and narrows his eyes. ‘I shall do as I see fit. If they cannot be trusted to prepare a meal to simple instructions then they cannot be trusted to work there. I am sure that the management will feel the same.’ His phone shows a new message almost immediately.

_I’m serious, Mycroft. Don’t go taking this out on some poor chef who’s probably beating themselves up over it already. It was an accident._

Mycroft looks at him. Greg gives him his best serious face around the oxygen mask, the one that makes even Sherlock pause. Mycroft sighs. ‘Very well then, Gregory. I won’t go further than a stern word. Seeing you like that… it was a horrible experience. I do not want a repeat.’ He looks pained.

_I don’t want to experience it again either and neither will the chef I imagine. It can’t be much fun knowing you almost killed someone by accident. Nothing more than a stern word. Promise._

Mycroft gives him a look that starts stern and quickly slides into warm fondness. ‘I promise.’

Four

_Film tonight at mine? No citrus involved. GL_

_Sounds perfect. Should I bring anything? MH_

_Just yourself. Maybe some wine if you want, not sure my plonk would be up to your standards. GL_

_I’m sure your choice of wine would be delightful, but I have a particularly nice bottle I think you would enjoy so I shall bring that as well as myself. What time should I arrive? MH_

_Eight, work permitting. I’ll pick up some bits and pieces to snack on. GL_

_Eight will be fine. I will see you then. MH_

The film is one Greg has seen before but Mycroft hasn’t. As such he allows his attention to wander away from the screen towards the man sitting beside him on his somewhat scruffy couch. He suspects Mycroft is aware he’s being watched but is content to keep his focus on the story for the moment. They’re nearing the end of the film and while they started at a respectable distance from each other they have long since moved to meet in the middle, sitting pressed together all along one side. Greg is debating putting his arm round Mycroft’s shoulder but fears that move might be overdone. 

As the film comes to it’s end Mycroft blinks and turns towards him, smiling a little. In this position their faces are only a hands width or so apart. Awareness lights in Mycroft’s eyes and Greg thinks this is it. It’s finally going to happen. He’s not unaware of the interruptions that have plagued them so far, but this time surely - 

Mycroft’s face twitches. He stills, then twitches again and before he can stop himself an enormous sneeze bursts forth. He pulls back from Greg only to sneeze again, and again, then twice more before he manages to gain control. Greg can’t help himself. His face twitches too, but instead of a sneeze he can’t prevent himself from laughing. Mycroft’s surprised and affronted look as he was unable to stop himself sneezing just strikes him as hilarious, and Mycroft sitting there with one eyebrow raised as he watches Greg dissolve into helpless snorting giggles isn’t doing anything to alleviate the situation. 

Five

It’s raining, coming down in sheets and buckets as Greg grumpily sloshes around the crime scene. They got the tent up first thing to preserve any evidence and Greg managed to spend some time under cover before he was forced out to take down details and initial statements from the witnesses. His umbrella is sitting nice and dry in his office at the yard. 

The temptation to pull rank and make Donovan stay here to deal with the scene while he goes back to the dry and relatively warm Yard is almost overwhelming, but she’s been coming down with a cold for the last few days and even he’s not heartless enough to make her stay out in this. He sends her back with one of the witnesses to get a full statement typed up and the look she sends him is pitifully grateful enough that it almost makes staying here worth it. Not quite, though.

It’s another two hours until they can pack up and it doesn’t stop raining the entire time. Greg debates whether to go straight back to the Yard and get started or to go home, have a shower and change into something dry. It’s going to be at least forty minutes to an hour on the tube from here to his flat whereas he thinks he has a spare shirt somewhere in his office. 

Despite the lure of a hot shower the Yard wins out and Greg is about to climb into a panda car to begin the journey back when he sees a familiar black car pull up. Gesturing to PC Stockwell to go on without him he jogs over to it through the still-steady rain. 

The door opens as he approaches and he gets in with a shiver of relief. Mycroft is sitting on the other side of the bench seat and his eyes widen as he takes in Greg’s soaked and bedraggled state.   
‘Where is your umbrella, Gregory?’ The disapproval is strong in Mycroft’s voice.

‘Back at the Yard. It wasn’t raining when I set out.’ The misery in Greg’s reply is enough to silence any further criticism from Mycroft.

‘To your flat?’ Mycroft makes to press the button to connect him to the driver in the front compartment, stopping as Greg shakes his head.

‘The Yard. I’ve got dry stuff there.’ Mycroft makes a faintly shocked noise. ‘It’s fine, I’ve got a lot to do so I can’t really spare the time to go home yet anyway.’ Mycroft’s lips tighten in disagreement but he makes no demure, instructing the driver to head for the Yard.

‘So what brought you out to see me on such a miserable day?’ Greg asks.

‘I came precisely because it _is_ such a miserable day. I was made aware of the fact that you had been out in this for close to four hours with no umbrella and no real shelter. As I was in the area I thought you might appreciate a lift.’ The fact that Greg had been about to get into a perfectly serviceable police car to return to the station is left unsaid between them.

‘You were made aware were you?’ Greg grins. ‘Checking up on me with the CCTV again?’ Mycroft merely gives a small sniff in reply and examines the handle of his umbrella, refusing to answer. ‘Well, whatever the reason I appreciate the lift. D’you think we could stop for a hot drink on the way?’

‘Certainly we can, though I would like to point out that you could have a hot drink in your flat after a hot shower and whilst in warm dry clothes should you wish.’ At Greg’s look Mycroft gives a faint sigh. ‘No, I didn’t think that would persuade you. Very well.’ He lets the driver know the change and leans back in his seat. A minute or two later they pull up outside a small coffee shop and Mycroft gestures for Greg to wait in the car while he ducks out and returns shortly with three drinks, one of which he hands to the driver before he climbs into the back seat. 

Greg wraps his hands round the warm cup and sips greedily at the hot liquid inside, so glad for the warmth that he doesn’t care when he burns his tongue. Mycroft is watching him from the other side of the car, hands holding his cup gently. He looks a little sad.

‘I do wish you would take better care of yourself Gregory. You’ll do no one any good if you make yourself ill though sheer stubbornness.’ The melancholy note to his voice makes Greg look up in time to see Mycroft look away. ‘You’ve done a lot to look after me in the last few months but you don’t seem to afford yourself the same level of care. I do wish you would.’ 

Greg swallows, doesn’t say anything for a moment. ‘I don’t need to. You do that for me. You say I’ve done a lot for you, well, you’ve done as much for me, Mycroft. I was drifting into a rut of work and home with nothing else to look forward to and then you came along. Yeah, I’ve known you for years but it’s only in the last few months we’ve really become friends and, well, more than that. You give me something to look forward to that’s not just a beer at the end of the day, you’ve made me enjoy having days off to make plans for and given me someone to talk to when the day’s been bad, or good, or just long and boring. Believe me Mycroft, you’ve done just as much for me as I’ve done for you.’ He focuses on the cup in his hands, doesn’t dare shoot more than a quick glance at Mycroft to gauge his reaction.

When he does he sees Mycroft looking at him with wide, shocked eyes. ‘I don’t know what… You… Gregory-’ Mycroft reaches one hand out towards him almost blindly and Greg surges forward to meet him half way, reaching too. Their hands collide and tangle, fingers gripping as they close the gap between them and Greg thinks now, surely now - 

The car swerves quickly to avoid something unseen on the road, jolting them both to the side and banging their heads together hard enough that they both give out short exclamations. The driver’s voice comes apologetically over the intercom. ‘Sorry sir, dog on the road. We’ll be there in a minute, Detective Inspector.’ The intercom clicks off.

A minute later, still rubbing at his forehead Greg climbs out of the car in front of the revolving New Scotland Yard sign and makes his way into the building. Lips tight he makes his way up to his office where he closes the door and refuses to speak to anyone for the next hour and a half.

One

_A situation has arisen. A car will be arriving for you shortly. Please be prompt. MH_

Greg is just finishing up the last of his paperwork when the text arrives. Bidding farewell to the image of beer and football that has been sustaining him for the last couple of hours he grabs his coat and makes his way down to the street to wait for his ride.

As the car drives in to the empty warehouse Greg can see Mycroft waiting, leaning on his umbrella. Both he and the driver get out and the driver holds out his hand. Having been through this a few times when Mycroft has something especially sensitive to discuss he knows to hand over his phone. The driver gets back into the car which pulls away smoothly and vanishes out of sight. He turns to Mycroft who is looking impatient.

‘Gregory, I have had enough. This is becoming intolerable. I cannot think about anything without… imaginings intruding.’ There is a wild look in Mycroft’s eyes, a concealed restlessness to his stance. ‘This ends right now. I have sent the car away along with our phones. Anthea is on guard outside’ - and if Greg knows anything it’s that nothing gets past Anthea - ‘I have cleared both our schedules, there is nothing here that could cause anaphylactic shock and neither of us is in any way ill. With all this in mind I have also taken the liberty of providing a settee for convenience’ - he gestures to the side where Greg has entirely failed to notice a small, solid looking sofa sitting - ‘and I intend to put this issue to rest once and for all.’ With three strides Mycroft is in front of him, at which point he drops his umbrella, grabs Greg by the elbows and - 

Oh.

The first meeting of lips is more gentle than Greg imagined, given the situation and how long they’ve been waiting. Or more gentle than he would have imagined if Mycroft hadn’t rendered him completely incapable of thought. Mycroft is almost teasing him with small sipping kisses that turn deeper and more hungry as Greg lets out a breath and leans further towards him. Lost in the moment Mycroft sways into him and Greg is forced to pull away in order to keep his balance. Mycroft looks surprised, blinking a little as he comes back to himself. Greg grins at his almost shell-shocked expression, can imagine a similarly amazed look on his own face. He clears his throat.

‘Well Mr. Holmes, since you’ve gone to all the trouble of bringing me here, clearing our schedules and even providing a sofa I think it would be a shame not to make full use of this opportunity.’ Mycroft still looks dazed as Greg tugs on his hand, pulling him toward the sofa but he comes back to himself enough to move forward with purpose and place his free hand on Greg’s lower back. He leans towards Greg and runs his tongue along the outer edge of his ear. 

 

‘Gregory,’ he purrs, sending a shiver down Greg’s spine and causing him to move faster towards the sofa. He can’t resist kissing Mycroft once more, which leads to twice more, which leads to Greg almost falling onto the sofa as his legs hit the seat before he realises. Mycroft follows him down and he ends up half prone across the cushions with Mycroft on top of him, kissing and kissing and kissing.

There are no phones to interrupt them, nobody barges in, no sudden breathlessness or sneezing fits, and the couch doesn’t move an inch. The kisses grow deeper then ease off, returning to smaller, gentler touches before turning urgent and hungry again. Both of them are entirely consumed by the other, the taste and feel of skin, the rub of fine cloth against cheaper, the press of fingertips and sensation of roaming hands. 

The floodgates have opened, pent up desire bursting forth. They don’t pause in their kissing until Greg can no longer ignore the cramp building in his leg but after the extended wait they refuse to let that stop them for long.


End file.
